Difficult Discussions

Some things are very hard for me to talk about.

I know this because the moment a sensitive topic gets brought up, I abruptly change the subject.

Pretty much anything related to our grifter President Trump gets me upset.

I literally have to beg my parents to stop ranting about him, because it upsets me so much.

And I take anti-anxiety medication on a regular basis.

Go figure.

The other day, my sister brought up Matthew Shepard.

It was the 20 year anniversary of his death, brought on by a hate crime beating because he was gay.

I have to pause and capture my thoughts.

I can’t imagine anything worse than losing a loved one to a hate crime.

The idea that someone I love could be HATED so much that they are killed by another person makes me want to cry.

Needless to say, I worry about my son.

He’s such an artistic, gentle soul.

I barely managed to speak to him about Matthew Shepard, but I did.

Because it’s important.

And as much as I believe the onus of good behavior should fall on every person, I reminded my son to take measures to protect himself from people who would harm him for his orientation.

And then I hid in my room and I cried.

Because we live in a world where I need to have this conversation.

Let’s change that.


Giving up dating

So, I have a dilemma.

I’ve given up internet dating.

This is a good thing.

Internet dating was damaging my view of men in the Bay Area.

I felt stuck in a porno, unable to escape.

Every man wanted sex – from the guy who described his ideal woman as someone without a gag reflex to the guy whose username was Luv2eatacos.

Fuck actually making a connection with someone.

This I think, is not the norm.


I mean of course men want sex.

Everyone does.

But I think there are men out there who are single, available, and NOT TOTALLY OBSESSED WITH SEX.

Let’s call them Men-Who-Can-Make-Meaningful-Connections-With-Women.

My dilemma is this:


They’re OBVIOUSLY not online.

So where do I go?

The supermarket?

The library?

Hobby shops?

Sports games?

Please, someone tell me because the only thing I hate more than giving up is giving up and doing nothing about it.

I have no intention of wallowing in misery, alone for the rest of my life.

But I also have no intention of going back online to play the nymphomaniac to men who think that women are sex objects.

Should I just leave it to serendipity or should I somehow mix and mingle and put myself out there?


Guilty Pleasures

I have A LOT of guilty pleasures.

Music by ABBA.

The smell of neoprene.

Shiny black vinyl lingerie.

I’m not a NKOTB fan, nor am I a Justin Bieber Fan.

Although, I did see the Biebs in concert with Barbara and I must say, that boy can sing AND dance.

One thing I’m almost loathe to admit is my fondness for the Royal family.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m not British but I have a “thing” for the Princes and Princesses of England.

It’s embarrassing, really.

But I simply LOVE to see what they are wearing.

I love to watch them get married, settle down, have babies.

Of course it was fun when Prince Harry was partying in Vegas wearing nothing but a hand towel. . .

That happened, right?

I’m sure I can’t find a picture of it anymore, with the Royal family purging their royal escapades.

Anyway, I was happy to surf on in to Princess Eugenie’s wedding to scope out her dress and the dresses of all her guests.

Some looked quite lovely, like Naomi Campbell.

Others, like Peaches Geldolf, not so much.

Anyway, all this is to say that even though I LOVE to watch the Royals, I also HATE my obsession with it and therefore I consider it a VERY DIRTY GUILTY PLEASURE.

I personally think it’s better to live you own life to the fullest every day rather than obsess about the lives of others.

But that’s just me.


That Voice

There’s this nasty voice in our heads that likes to talk to us when it’s quiet and we’re left alone to our own thoughts.

Lately, my voice has been RAGING at me.

You’re not good enough.

You’re not smart enough.

You’re not pretty enough.

You’re not successful enough.

You’re not thin enough.

Enough. Enough! ENOUGH!

I’ve had it with this voice!

Have you ever heard of neuroplasticity?

It’s the brain’s ability to form new neural connections throughout life.

I want to train my brain to stop thinking this way.

And where the fuck did I learn this from anyway?

Self-loathing isn’t present at birth.

It’s something we learn.

Well, if I can learn it then I can UNLEARN it.

So every time that voice goes off in my head, I let it.

I let it say its piece and get it all out in the open.

Then I calmly and confidently tell myself the exact opposite.

I’m extraordinary.

I’m brilliant.

I’m beautiful.

I’m talented.

I’m deliciously curvy.

I’m more than enough.


I suppose I could rely on my friends to tell me how wonderful I am.

But I figure that means I’ll always need a steady source of external validation.

Something I can’t count on.

So I’m learning it myself.

Let’s just hope my grey matter is ready to form new pathways.

My new hero?

Little Jessica (see her video below):

Novelty Seeking Gene

I have one copy of the Novelty Seeking gene.  [I worked in genetics for 5 years after I graduated college and I tested my own DNA against a lot of genetic markers.]

It’s a real thing and you can read about it here.

Besides attributing the existence of this blog to my poor memory (it’s my diary, of sorts), I also like to chronicle my adventures in blog posts.

I’ve run with the bulls.

Raced stock cars.

Kayaked with whales.

Took a Blow Job 101 class.

Posed for boudoir photos.

Gone to Burning Man four times.

Took an Orgasmic Meditation class.

Made beer.

Gone whale watching.

Sailed the Bay.

Caught salmon in the ocean.


And so much more.

I get bored easily so I’m always trying to plan my next adventure.

I also am always up for a dare.

Take for instance, the Bug Eating Dare.

Apparently, it’s a Korean delicacy to eat silkworm grub.

Yes, indeed.

And there I was, standing around the campfire, when someone offered me a grub.

My first instinct was to say no.

But then I thought, “Why not?”

It’s not as if I’ll ever get the chance to do this again.

And so I ate one.

I know what you’re wondering.

You’re wondering what it tasted like.

It tasted like dirt and had a gritty texture.

Delicacy, I don’t think so!

I spit it out into the fire.

So maybe it doesn’t count because I spit instead of swallowed, but I’ve eaten a Korean silkworm grub and I DID NOT LIKE IT!

Remind me to tell you about the time I ate chocolate covered ants.

Gotta love that novelty seeking gene!



Life was never the same

Every mother loves to tell her birth stories and I am no different.

My oldest was in fetal distress and so I had to be induced with him at 36 weeks.

It took me 45 minutes to push him out.

He was born going pee.

He peed on the doctor and on me.

Typical Duncan.

And then two years later came Gavin.

With Gav I didn’t realize how far I was in labor until I arrived in the hospital, got in a bed, looked at the nurse and groaned, “I have to P U S H!”

She examined me and noted that I was fully dilated and ready to push.

It took 20 minutes to deliver Gav.

He came out with a perfectly round head because he spent no time in the birth canal.

So 45 minute and 20 minute labors.

Not too shabby.

Personally, I have no idea how women can handle labors that last a long time.

18 hours.

36 hours.

It’s insane.

I’d be begging for a C-section out of sheer exhaustion.

There is a downside to having very fast labors.

My chart was flagged for fast delivery and the nurse told me that if I had another baby, it would probably arrive in the car on the ride to the hospital.


Also, I can’t guilt my children by telling them how long I was in labor with them.

All I say is, “Do you know how MUCH it hurt?!”

I recorded both births.

Yes, I did.

Not your typical side shot of the mother delivering the baby.


I instructed my mother to record the birth right where all the action was happening.

I watched the births right after the boys were born.

Then on their 1 year birthdays.

And I gotta say, those deliveries are pretty gross.

I see why people take sideways shots of babies being delivered.

It’s sort of a juicy, fluid-filled, mucus plug, gross out fest.

But in the end, I had a 7 pound 2 ounce baby boy and an 8 pound 5 ounce baby boy to love on.

And life was never the same.

Standing next to supermodels

It sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it?

Having to stand next to a supermodel.

What could be worse that being side by side with a leggy blond or brunette with perfectly symmetrical features and cheekbones that could cut wood?

I personally try not to follow too many fashion models on Instagram because it’s bad for my mental health and self image.

I try to follow curve models.

They have curvy butts and thighs and sometimes even a soft belly.

It’s comforting to me to see women with body types like my own.

It makes me feel like less of an unlovable freak and more like a beautiful woman.

I’m not sure beauty magazines understand the impact they have on young women growing up when all they promote within their pages are size 0 models.

It’s a 445 BILLION dollar industry based on convincing women that they need this lipstick, dress, purse, face cream, etc, in order to be beautiful.

I am reminded of a line in “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” that goes something like this:


Beauty magazines are in the business of making beautiful women feel ugly.

When I was younger I loved beauty magazines.

I used to subscribe to several of them and I’d comb through the pages of the magazine picking out makeup, clothes, and accessories that I really wanted.

It gave me a little thrill.

Now, it makes me shudder.

And yet, I am a beauty consumer of the first water.

A VIB Sephora member.

A Platinum member of ULTA.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t also buy makeup from Milani, Beautylish, and elf.

If the amount of makeup we buy is proportional to how ugly we feel inside, then what do my spending habits say about me????

God, there’s a frightening thought.

I was going to be good. . .

I was going to be good.

I had it all planned out in my head.

I was going to wear my red and purple dress to my cousin’s wedding in October.

I even bought a little red and purple fascinator to go with it.

But then I wore the dress on a date (a disaster of a date, if you ask me).

And it struck me that for a wedding, it was AWFULLY low cut.

Maybe too much so.

I mean, I don’t want to be remembered as the cousin who had her tatas hanging out while her cousin got married.

I can just hear the gossip now.

“Who’s Michelle?”

“You know, she was the one in the really low cut dress. . .”

“Oh right. Tacky.”

My Aunt Xondra has informed me that if she gets married, she’s making me wear a turtleneck.

So it seems I have a bit of a reputation for this sort of thing.

Therefore, I bought a dress at Nordstrom to wear to the wedding.

A lavender floral dress.

Isn’t it pretty?

And not the least bit low cut.

Demure, even.

I also bought a teeny tiny fascinator to go with the dress.

So even though the plan was to not spend money, I did spend a wee bit on a new outfit.

I was going to be good.

But being bad is so much better!


I have no business dating

I have no business dating.

I came to this realization just the other day as I deleted ALL THE ONLINE DATING APPS off my phone.

I can’t BEAR to meet any more men.

Sure, I’ve met a bunch of louses lately and that’s coloring my opinion of men.

But intuitively, I know there are good ones out there.

I hired a life coach a few years ago and he used to tell me that what you attract is a reflection of yourself and if that’s true then I’m a GOD AWFUL MESS and have NO BUSINESS DATING.

If you look at my life you will notice:

  1. I live with my parents.  Granted, dad is blind and mom has a heart condition so staying with them also helps them out, but I’m a soon-to-be 44 year old who lives with Mom and Dad.  Le sigh.
  2. My finances are a wreck. Hopefully the downward spiral has completed and I am on my way up and out of the hole I dug for myself.
  3. I’m an admin. Yes, I plan events and my title is Program Assistant, but as far as my employer is concerned, I’m an admin.
  4. Not much of a career unless you count 14 years at a prestigious university as a career. But see #3 above.
  5. I have a pretty diverse sexual history which makes me unsuitable for MOST vanilla men. They either assume I’m a nymphomaniac or that I’m easy when I am neither.  It doesn’t help that I’m still unsettled when it comes to my sexuality.  I’m not sure what I want.
  6. My health is not at its best. Which is a polite way of saying I need to lose weight.  As much as I like my curves, they are getting curvier than I like.  I’m working on fixing it but I’ve got a long way to go.
  7. I’m not perfect. Yes, I know no one is perfect but in several ways, I am inherently flawed.  If I could wish these flaws away, I would but sadly they are here to stay and require medication.
  8. I can’t even keep my room clean, for fuck’s sake! I mean REALLY!  Who can’t keep their room clean after the age of 25? People who shouldn’t be dating, that’s who!  If you can’t keep a tidy room then how can you maintain a relationship?

Maybe I’m being hard on myself.

Maybe I’m in better shape than I think.

But today?

This moment right now?

I’m just completely FRUSTRATED with myself. (I was going to say DISGUSTED but that seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?)

So my profiles are deleted and the dating apps are gone.

I have officially given up.

I have no business dating.




The first five

I’ve lost 5 pounds.

Normally, I wouldn’t blog about that but I’m trying to celebrate my milestones.

Five pounds.

Not too much to lose in 3 weeks, but just enough to encourage me to keep going.

How have I done it, you ask?

Eating healthy and exercise.

There’s no magic pill.

The first thing I did was stop drinking so much booze.

I allow myself one or two cocktails a week now, instead of one or two cocktails a day.

What a HUGE difference that makes.

I’ve also started eating more fruits and vegetables and have cut out most of the processed foods I used to eat.

I eat healthy snacks during the day, never letting myself get too hungry.

I’m still not great at drinking water instead of Diet Coke, but this is a work in progress so I’m not kicking myself in the ass for cracking open a cold Coke and downing it.

Oh, the other thing – I weight myself daily.

And I journal my food.

Basically, I’m doing all the stuff that’s supposed to be intuitive to losing weight but somehow is a huge challenge to overcome.

I’m not going to lie.

It’s not easy.

I miss being able to eat whatever I feel like.

But I know it’s time for change.

If for no other reason than I want to do a Spartan Race.

And I’m not in shape to do a Spartan Race right now.

So my reward for getting in shape?

A Spartan Race!